
Qass., 
BookJ^c 



NINE POEMS FROM 
A VALETUDINARIUM 



BYTHKSAMK AUTIIOU 

SONNETS IttOU THE PATAfiONIAN Omi 0f rrtml 
TWO DEATHS IM THE B80SX 
/n rrtjpamkion 
\T THE EAB 



Nine Poems from 
a Valetudinarium 



by DONALD EVANS 



PHILADELPHIA 

NICHOLAS L. BROWN 
MCMXVI 






I lit. 1916, by 

Niciiouks U Browm 



Arknowleclfrmmt U due to \ht 

W. 8. BkAITIIWAlTC AND DON MaIQVIB 

for permiicioD to reprint leTeral poems 



DEC 21 1916 

^JA I MJH7ii 



To: 



Elinor A. McCaulley 



CONTENTS 

FROM A VALETUDINARIUM 

APOLOGIA PRO VITA MEA I P. 11 

THE temple: p. 12 
ON A promenade: p. 13 
AN UNKNOWN tongue: P. 14 

WITH DEATH THE UNCOUTH 

ABEL puller: P. 17 

SAMSON ALLEN: P. 19 
AS A DECADENT PASSES : P. 21 
WINDOWS OF WAR 

THE hero: P. 25 
INVALIDED home: P. 27 

aut ave aut vale: the velvet vise: p. 31 

maternity: p. 35 

prayer to be taught to a child : p. 39 

the clouds were not afraid : p. 43 

TO A dead journalist: p. 47 

at the wheel: p. 51 



From a Valetudinariura. 



APOLOGIA PRO VITA ME A 



s 



HALL I disavow 

From the years one day, 
Though the record read 



As a hand to slay ? 

For did I diso^vn 

What you will not name, 
The few fine things done 

Could I ever claim ? 

Must you call it pride 
That I will not treat 

As an alien act 

The weaker defeat ? 

In the drab descents 

Was I not still I, 
If I was myself 

When I touched the sky ? 



11 



THE TEMPLE 



I 



In (bo tower f 
Hare thr U IN Ikh^d mendad 
Bj strange power f 



Will tbev rin^ out clearlj 
Aj of von* ? 

«r 

Will tbev rhiiiH" ^inrrrrly 
Af before ? 

8inro tbo bronxo uji« brokmi 

It haa aeoined 
I biive never spoken. 

Onlv dreamed! 



12 



ON A PROMENADE 



E 



VEEYWHEEE my strollings led 
Only cripples did I see ; 
Nothing but a maimed host 
In the streets moved wearily. 



It was sad to pass no man 

Straight and strong and madly gay, 
For the air shone Aiitumn-keen, 

And the sunlight kissed the day. 

Walked with me a bovhood friend — 
Him I asked to tell me why. 

He turned on me puzzled gaze 
That demanded what meant I ? 

Cripples he saw not, he said, 

Ordinary folk were all, 
Kot a halt one anywhere, 

Finest crowd he'd seen that Fall. 



13 



AN rA'A'vnirv Tnvnrji 



T 



O whom impart mv p-ief f 
I am a itrangrr bor^— 
N0D6 knows tbo tongue I tpcak, 
Though all ipvo willing car. 



T n^fnl but a abort \% i 

i5t: ' ' i fua my pain, 

Might i 

To whom imf»art my grief? 

I am a strangor ber(^— 
Knowing no tongiio tbcr tp^nk. 

Though I give willing car 



14 



With Death the Uncouth 



ABEL FULLER 

NONE could remember when he first came there, 
And built his hut behind the lime-kiln hill. 
His name was Ab§l, and he had an air 
Of being a stranger strayed from anywhere 
Who bore his fellows neither good nor ill. 

He was not lazy, yet he seldom worked, 

But when he did he laboured honestly; 
Whoever hired him could not say he shirked, 
Although he got only the jobs that irked. 

The cast-off toil that goes to poverty. 

He made no friends, and he would speak to few ; 

Even a passing greeting in the road 
He often left unheeded. To our view 
His silence hid a secret, but none knew, 

Nor how he lived in his remote abode. 

He had a way we could not understand 

Of picking weeds to stick into his hair ; 
Dead flowers, too, he'd have in either hand 
In Summer when the harvest filled the land. 

And every field with living things was fair. 



17 



And in tbe 8priiigiini<» whole dirt be would fpaod 

8e«rching tht wood* for an unmitiHl bird. 
HU life WM ginnt, and it ibe very cn<\ 
Wben be wm dying w« wcr© there to tend. 
But he give im no iniwor thit we hetrd. 



18 



SAMSON ALLEN 



THEEE was the drum he played so poorly, 
Though all his days he prayed for skill. 
I^ever in life would he beat it surely, 
Even if the stars in heaven stood still. 

There was the village band renewing 

Always his ancient ache to play. 
It was the sum of his soul's undoing, 

And never he knew would it wear away. 

Little the village found amusing 

With no more than one straggling street, 

So that without so much as choosing 
It turned to him as its jest complete. 

Thus in a humor quite bucolic 

It clutched at him as its lawful prey ; 

Would it not add to the county's frolic 
If he should lead the band that day ? 

Mindful he of the vain, balked playing 
Could not take such a crown to wear. 

But he would were there no gainsaying 
Beat the drum for the countv fair. 



19 



With the t\rijt w 11 %*"i II iin* cominif. 
All the TiUaitt? wan ihtrw to laufrh. 

Nn matter if lht» rlou«U nr-. .? ^.omin^. 
Shoultl "••^ f'Jn writp i aphf 

Hen? ihcT come with piccoli •hrilling, 

Uv. h<u(ihif(h, with tho vimhI «ti««k« dtimh; 

Now the tilrnce that will hreiik thrilling 
In th<» cni«h '*( tlw* rolliiif^ ilnim. 

All the >ran» of hin p«ii«*nt iHiliiifr 
Shroiuled ifp hy a hlimlinp light. 

For none see*. «ince thev all are quailing, 
Jnst how the lightning made wrong right! 



20 



AS A DECADENT PASSES 

BID the dawn come ; the moonlight is too pale ; 
Shadows are tiring me ; the night is long. 
Shabby the lures of life, and they all fail, 
i^or is there music for a farewell song. 

Death has prepared the most authentic thrill ; 

1 hear the whisper of his winding sheet, 
And, lo ! he brings me over one lone hill 

^ew-cut gardenias for my head and feet. 



21 



Windows of War 



TEE HEEO 



H 



EBE'S the Victoria Cross he won — 
To me he gave it for his wife. 
He is buried in a Flemish grave, 
On the field where he lost his life. 



I^ever a chap met a braver death, 

Saved his men — which is best of all ! 
England rings with his name to-day; 

Thousands cry to avenge his fall. 

E'one knew the hero as well as I. 

I slept beside him every night, 
When sleep we did, and in his dreams 

His soul fought many a strange fight. 

What is a man when he lives in sleep 

With mind ranging the daily things ? 
Is he himself, or some one else 

Beyond human imaginings ? 

There was our friend. When sleep dropped the veil 

He turned coward and traitor, too ; 
Shielded himself behind his men — 

There's nothing weak he did not do. 

25 



Night aftrr night I heard him (iirain. 

iictraring ail to tare hit ikin ; 
Ilcartjick, I watrbccl bit rraren lipi. 

And prajed for battle to bc^o. 

Yet when the dawn came be was back. 

ICeady to do what none elte could. 
God ! What a gloriona beritairp, 

Tbe aoroll of bii hardihood ! 



I 



INVALIDED HOME 

'N a trench we were all the same — 

If our shoulders touched it was not half bad ; 
Come gas or the tearing shrapnel hail, 
When shoulders pressed one would not go mad. 



It's the lone memory I've brought back 

From my twelve months' bit where the best have died- 
Nothing mattered if a man might feel 

The flesh of a comrade at his side. 

I've seen them fall, and the next man, 
Still doing his work, quite unconsciously 

Sidewise would edge till his sleeve could rub 
The sleeve of another for company. 



27 



Aut Ave Aiit Vale : The Velvet Vise 



AUT AVE AUT VALE: 
THE VELVET VISE 



Y 



OUR hand, more soft than a live dove, 
More white than fledgling wings, 
You offer as you might my glove, 
And while it lies it sings. 



It is too small for my mastery — 
It wins its own release ; 

Yet you testing its potency 
You know it brings not peace. 



31 



Maternity 



MATERNITY 

YOU have come back to us who need you so — 
You who have felt the hovering hands of death, 
While we sat here 
Enduring an eternity of fear, 

With choking breath, 
Lest we should know. 

Earth gives us you and Spring. Out on the hill 
The youngling leaves, the apple trees in bloom 

Chant life anew. 

We offer up our prayer, our thanks, that you 
In Death's own room 

Found doom nor ill. 



35 



Prayer to Be Taught to a Child 



B 



PRAYER TO BE TAUGHT TO A CHILD 

ODY, keep thyself fair to see ; 
Beauty is bride of eternity. 
But, O my soul, hold thou in fee 
Always the body of me ! 



Z9 



The Clouds Were l^ot Afraid 



s 



THE CLOUDS WERE NOT AFRAID 

AIL on, white clouds, to what St. Brandan's isle, 
The sky is wide, and all of it your home; 
Relentless steersman this November wind. 
But what fear you, what care you where you roam ? 



I watch your passage undulant and sure. 
And from the upper air you signal me 

An ensigned word of my enfranchisement 
Through all the Cinque-Ports of modernity. 



43 



To a Dead Journalist 



F 



TO A DEAD JOURNALIST 
IXALLY, life was kind. It let him die. 



47 



At the Wheel 



AT THE WHEEL 

SHE holds my lost illusions in her hands, 
And all the hours of vain tenderness, 
The wasted faiths, the prides of brave address — 
She gives me back mj title and my lands. 
There are two voices when I speak to her ; 

The words are cool and ordered in their spell. 
But my soul hears the muted syllable 
Large with the mutiny it may not stir. 
There is so little that she keeps from me. 

Only herself? And who may touch the Queen? 
I wait her coming obediently serene, 
With one petition for my loyalty, 
That she will make with Death a royal third. 
Untouched she turns the wheel. She has not heard. 



51 



LIST IN BELLES-LETTRES 



LIST IN BELLES-LETTRES 

Published by 
NICHOLAS L. BROWN 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 



THE AWAKENING OF SPRING. By Frank Wedekind. 
A tragedy of childhood dealing with the sex question in 
its relationship to the education of children. Fifth edition. 
Cloth, gilt top, deckle edge, $1.25 net. By mail, $1.35. "Here 
is a play which on its production caused a sensation in Ger- 
many, and can without exaggeration be described as remark- 
able. These studies of adolescence are as impressive as they 
are unique." — The Athenceum, London. 

THE CREDITOR. By August Strindberg. Translated from 
the Swedish by Francis J. Ziegler. A psychological study 
of the divorce question by one of the greatest Scandinavian 
dramatists. Clotii, 75 cents net; postage, 8 cents. It was pro- 
duced for the first time in 1889, when it was given at Copen- 
hagen as a substitute for "Froken Julie," the performance of 
which was forbidden by the censor. Four years later Berlin 
audiences made its acquaintance, since when it has remained 
the most popular of Strindberg's plays in Germany. 

TWO DEATHS IN THE BRONX. By Donald Evans. Ebony 
grey boards, antique wove paper. $1.00 net. Mr. Evans has 
again sounded a new note in poetry, and possibly an important 
one. The modernism, mistakenly called Futurism, that in 
the "Sonnets from the Patagonian" sometimes merely amazed, 
in the present instance, stimulates and satisfies. The volume is 
a series of pitiless photographs of profligate men and women 
who fritter away life, seeking new pleasures, new sensations. 
It is a gallery of inurable poseurs. Mr. Evans's method of 
approach is irony, and each poem is a vial of acid. 

A DILEMMA. By Let)nidas Andreiyeff. Translated from the 
Russian by John Cournos. Cloth, 75 cents net; postage, 7 
cents. A remarkable analysis of mental subtleties as experi- 
enced by a man who is uncertain as to whether or not he is 
insane. A story that is Poe-like in its intensity and full of 



c. 



B9mim$ PtL 



DISCORDS. A Toktow of pocmi by Doiuld Evim. Ihtm 
potoH have BO Mnnos lo prcK^oo erUt lo »rrsiA. >» btv 
•dirffie of ihinti to ^fopoond. Tbry are poems •'"^^'•J* 
tit V of arti«t»c crcolioti, and «h«T ?©••«• ■ ^OOlpillaM 

m^,m. m.A an abiding »-'►*•••* "Hit n.^, who U tiafteff oaljr 
for the pIcMore of v or more pormi th^ 

ottkc up the vohimc. • »•« of •' - -"-• «d 

ttrahi of modem Ufe. ! ^ly. an*! ^e« 

are full of free iwerp »' ^ic inien%it gittn 

boardi. $1 00 oet; poaiagr^ 



SW*A'*tf|TE. By Aogntt Slrin'"^"^ 
ir bv Francis j. Ziwkr. 

cr .\ por- 

In :ul in 1' 

cooiplctr tymboiism. Ujt »botesom( in 
love can conqocr evil. So out of thr 
mouth of the worWi mo*! terrible t 



\ r^iry Drama, 

OothTTS 

'Air en ts cnarmmic 

it<n, elusive IB Its 

«ate that pure 

rth. out of the 

«t. comei a ttranfe 

I- "r \ fw. tr«f Anil 



Aogu 

atlpoHciiul ;wa aii-cooiiucruit^ 
li^dii. 



ifflltgp(t>9, i/oj' , r\»/-» 



TME WOMAN AND THE FIDDLER. A play hi three arts 
Ame Norreranic Translated from the Norwefiao by Mra 



Hernran '---'- 
RJ rrnt« 
fiddler % vkho 
for the peasu 

FOR A vrr.TTT 
the I 

av 
of 

I) 

fa 

havinK tint ' 

Sr 

deriui a't arm jr-. »».;»i '\i\ 



Ooth, uncut «"^'»«*» "^ rfn>* nrt By mail. 

lay it bated u ^ndi of the 

1 \4iirT ti valley, playinc 



\ novrTrttr h%' Fmfte 7ola. Translated from 

•h. 75 centi net. Pott- 



not moralize, but with relentless pen delineates that madness of 
Therese sown in her soul from birth — a madness which her 
convent training rather enhances than abrogates. The book 
contains two other typical Zola stories: "The Maid of the 
Dawber" and "Compliments" — two delightful, crisp bits of 
literature. 

FRO KEN JULIE (Countess Julia). A Naturalistic Tragedy, 
by August Strindberg. Cloth, 75 cents net; by mail, 83 cents. 
Says Mr. James Huneker: It is an emotional bombshell. The 
social world seems topsy-turvied after a first reading. After 
a second, while the gripping power does not relax, one realizes 
the writer's deep, almost abysmal knowledge of human nature. 
. . . Passion there is, and a horrible atmosphere of reality. 
Everything is brought about naturally, inevitably. Be it under- 
stood, Strindberg is never pornographic, nor does he show a 
naked soul merely to afford a charming diversion, which is the 
practice of some French dramatists. That kitchen — fancy a 
kitchen as a battlefield of souls ! — with its good-hearted and 
pious cook, the impudent scoundrel of a valet eager for 
revenge on his superiors, and the hallucinated girl from above 
stairs — it is a tiny epic of hatred, of class against mass. 

THE LIVING CORPSE (Zhivoi Trup). A Drama in six Acts 
and twelve Tableaux, by Count Leo N. Tolstoi. Second edi- 
tion. Cloth, 75 cents net ; by mail, 83 cents. There is no ques- 
tion as to the tremendous power and simple impressiveness of 
this posthumous work, which is the literary sensation of the day 
not alone in Russia, but throughout Europe. As a protest 
against certain marriage and divorce laws, the absurdity of 
which is portrayed with a satiric pen, "The Living Corpse" is 
a most effective document. 

SUCH IS LIFE. A Play in five Acts, by Frank Wedekind, 
Author of "The Awakening of Spring," etc. Second edition. 
Cloth, gilt top, raw edge, net, $L25; by mail, $1.34. Whatever 
Wedekind's theme may be, it is always sure to be treated in a 
strikingly original fashion. In "Such is Life" it is Regality 
and Kingship. Though the locale is mediaeval Italy, the scene 
might as well have been laid at the present day, but this was, 
perhaps, too dangerous. While satire runs as an undercurrent 
throughout, the play is primarily one of tense dramatic situa- 
tions and a clearly outlined plot, full of color and action. Por- 
tions of the play are written in verse — verse that runs with 
almost Elizabethan fire and impetuosity. 



FAIRY OUACKBNBOSE. Hy Arthur K Sirrn A FAiry TftW 

w„», \T^t^^ T-.».,.rtaMBU. »" ' »7 IretkIL A book 

lor lyncfM of roodrm Fairylaad. 

K! nf rlijrmct will MMMt 

or »4xty. aad its tinplii, 

.{€ oMkc it ptfocolirly pIcMM 

. .rent or tcacMT cm BRord to bt 

wtthoot. BoordiL Nct« 75 cents. By mail, 84 ccsts. 



PLAYS AN 

on ' ' 

in 

on 

B.\ 

xix T- 

FLOK 

odd •< 
bcmn 

ttOQ O! 

lith dr 
have r 
of the . . 
ney Ler. 1 
of Mary 1 
written in 



TS. Rv Fmeit Lscy. 2 volamcs, primed 



Vohtmc 1 1 : 
^ "Uy in 5 A 

vii 4 



- tn 7 etchings. 

cdcr. Price per vol* 

ri:;er. Volume I: THE 

!•* a r'a^ in 5 Acts. 

iKxrroR OF 

^ty 



iMuait.o 



..rd 
4> tiic ^ir^icii |ii«j* ever 



Frnr\frn\ 

»ide«. 



the ar- 

my) • 

in 

frr 

or 

onkn4>Mn ' 

are not o? 

inff see t) 

lorii><i a • 

w) 

•till iragr^ni 



Greek Pro«€ Poems. Bv \f-tfhell S. Bock. 

hout on Japan Vellum r ^ eight poiat 

" '--'- nnd hound tn li.*-; itilum. Fabnaao 

haek in two coK>r« : ffilt lop. decklt 

"'0 copies 



~t ooota 
> SQCce* 

! Pirrrr 



^22S net. The 
. vokime tnow 



«cd ia 

ore irfi! 



by 
tly 
led 



A krrti |»rfi 

— ;> faith fulnrti \ ■ . 

re the flowers of pait sfct will nnd them hert. 



DANTE AND OTHER WANING CLASSICS. By Albert 
Mordell, cloth, $1.00 net. GEORGE BRANDES, the world's 
greatest living literary critic, wrote to the author after read- 
ing this book: "If I originally had any scruples against your 
fundamental idea, these scruples completely ceased when I 
thoroughly examined the execution of your plan. Now I am 
of your opinion. It is necessary to say once for all that these 
books of past times no longer correspond to our intellectual 
needs. You have had the courage to say it frankly. Even if 
they attack it at present, in the future, and not at all in a 
distant future, they will be grateful to you for having said it." 

VIE DE BORDEAUX. By Pitts Sanborn. A volume of poems 
in English. Boards, net $1.00. In this book of free verse 
Mr. Sanborn has interpreted the soul of old Bordeaux in the 
hour of war. The poems are executed with a rare fidelity of 
realism and rhythm and they show a France curiously and 
sublimely unafraid, fulfilled of the joy of living, but quite 
indifferent to death. The sorrow, the terror, the cruel wastage 
of war are everywhere present in the volume, but the author 
has adopted the method of painting the panorama far removed 
from the front; where the echo of the tumult of guns is 
"heard" only in the daily life of those who are not fighting. It 
is perhaps in his portrayal of France's intrepid womanhood 
that Mr. Sanborn is most moving, and his analysis of grief 
marks him as a real psychologist. 

NINE POEMS FROM A VALETUDINARIUM. By Donald 

Evans. Boards, net $1.00. In this latest volume we have 
Donald Evans, the arch-attitudinist, the maker of glittering and 
feverishly adroit phrases, suddenly become grave and simple, 
unaffected and humble, deserting the melodrama of Futurism 
and returning to academic prosody. Those who know his 
previous work will say some fundamental upheaval of spirit 
has occurred in the poet. Is he now emerging from behind 
his awful barriers? Has he conquered life, himself? About 
this book there is a halo of beauty and an ennobling music that 
mark only poetry of indisputable fineness. For the first time 
this sardonic singer writes in a mood of supreme reverence. 

MODERN AUTHORS' SERIES. 

Under this title appear from time to time short stories and 
dramas, chiefly translations from the works of modern European 
authors, each containing from 32 to 64 pages. Printed in large. 



dmt vJlir homd In grmy boftrdt «ndi p^v liM. 

SIL£NCE. e RomUq dat Aodrviytf 



•dilbQ. An uoummI tbort non uai rcid* likr t pots to 
by the kadliif upo a cm of tbt nrtr Ruttun tchool of 



IfOTHERLOVE. I > m thr of Aogv** !brrc 

ScCOad odUiuiL An r&am; !r '.\ietf^% po» .x\u 

of huRun nature. 

A RED FLT \ >rw • 1 r.^r.v n \ ; «rful thon 

•tory by o:.4 ;>o(>u ar aulhurt, uukowo M jrct ID 

the Eaglitb-ftpr 

THE GRISLFY SUITOR. From the Gcmun of Frank We<$e- 
kind An excellent ttory of the De-Maopuaat type 

RABBI F:'*'^ *^'^ -•"- VICTIM Bv PrmA WtMrfiid. 
Two %V of the pen of this noted 

author. 

Olhrr voimmus im Prt^r alien 

Circulart of SubKription Books free on Rc^octt 



